


Reckoning

by drayton



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4583001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drayton/pseuds/drayton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place shortly after <em>Wintersmith</em>.  After studying with Granny Weatherwax, Tiffany returns to the Chalk to take away the Baron's pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/gifts).



Deciding to help the Baron had been the easy part. True, the Baron disliked witches, but a lot of people did, and Tiffany helped them anyway. It was part of being a witch.

Roland's father, the Baron, was ill, and his aunts were using the Baron's illness as an excuse to take control of everything and pillage the castle. Tiffany had set her mind to the task of easing the Baron's pain and getting rid of the doctors who were doing the aunts' bidding.

Learning how to take away pain, how to hide it or move it out of the body was much harder than deciding to help had been. Granny Weatherwax was the one teaching Tiffany, or rather, not teaching her. Granny never taught anything straight out: she did a thing in front of you and then you had to figure out how to do it for yourself, while she looked on and made pointed remarks. “What works for one witch won't for another,” Granny had insisted, so Tiffany patiently watched and then tried to copy her.

“It's... it's like a combination of hiding and heat transfer,” Tiffany said on the second day, when she'd successfully taken away pain from one of the Feegles. Feegles love fighting even more than their former kelda, so they were happy to fight on command whenever Tiffany needed patients to practice on. Actually, Tiffany wasn't altogether sure they were fighting on command, because they rarely stopped when she told them to.

“Crivens! I dinnae feel a thing,” Daft Wullie said, holding his bruised and bleeding head. “That's serious hiddlins.”

“Balance is the trick,” Granny Weatherwax told Tiffany. “But this is a good sight more dangerous than transferring heat. Never let the pain touch you. Shift someone else's pain for them, but don't get comfortable with it, or it will become yours. Move it quickly and turn your back on it.”

“Is that hard to do?” Tiffany asked, remembering how much effort it had taken to use the heat trick for anything bigger than warming her feet.

Granny looked away from her, to watch Horace the cheese stalking You. “Not all hurting is physical. You have to take care not to sink into the memory of pain, because that's pain itself.”

“The memory of pain,” Tiffany said, “or the pain of memory?”

“Both,” Granny said, with a wintry smile. “Watch out for traps in unexpected places,” she added, as Horace pounced on You and the kitten counterattacked. “Everyone carries pain. Everyone. To do the trick, you have to set your pain aside and handle someone else's, and be sure you pick up the right bundle when you're done.”

“But why do you have to pick it up?” Tiffany asked. She saw Horace scurrying out the door in ignominious defeat.

“Physical pain, you can let it lie,” Granny said. “Painful memories... it's a reckoning. Abandon the memory, you abandon yourself. Let's try something harder,” she said, and You promptly sank her claws deep into Tiffany's leg.

After a few days' worth of weathering surprise attacks orchestrated by Granny, Tiffany was promoted to taking pain away from other humans. Treating people proved to be less of a worry to her than the Feegles' behavior. The Feegles had shown nothing but the utmost deference to Granny, but Tiffany had noticed that the population of the chicken run was diminishing.

“Rob,” she said one morning, when she could no longer convince herself that Granny had merely been giving away a few chickens to cottagers in need. “You can't go on stealing the chickens. Granny will notice, if she hasn't already, and making her angry is a bad idea.”

“We'd nae steal from the hag o' hags,” Rob Anybody said indignantly. “True, we've _borrowed_ some of her Winter Restorative when we were in dire need, but no Feegle is daft enough to take her chickens.”

“Winter Restorative?” Tiffany said skeptically.

“Oh, aye, it's just the thing if you're suffering.”

“Suffering? From what? Sobriety?”

“Mebbe,” Rob said cautiously. “Feegles _need_ a wee drop to be Feegles.”

This explanation might have gone down better if Horace hadn't chosen that moment to burp a pair of white feathers. “No Feegles have been taking chickens,” Tiffany said accusingly.

“He's nae a _proper_ Feegle, even with the kilt,” Rob explained. “He's a braw warrior, but weak in the heid.”

Tiffany bit her lip on the verge of saying, “Not a proper Feegle?” and instead said, “Keep him away from the chickens.”

 

After a month of Granny's not-teaching, Tiffany returned to the Chalk. The Feegles went with her, of course, because she always had at least few Feegles around, although Rob Anybody assured her they averted their eyes whenever Tiffany needed a bit of privacy. Horace was definitely larger than he'd been a month ago, but she hadn't heard any panicked _werks_ recently. Tiffany found herself wondering what he'd been eating and hastily counted the Feegles, but they all seemed to be present.

So, Tiffany thought to herself as she approached the Baron's castle, I chose to help the Baron. I learned the pain-away trick. Now all I have to do is get past the evil aunties. She carried a basket of cheeses round to the back entrance.

“Here, now,” the guard said, peering into her basket. “Ain't them supposed to be apples?”

Tiffany glanced down at Horace, who had been rolling along next to her. The cheese obligingly did his best to assume the shape of an apple. It was a creditable resemblance, considering that Horace was now the size of a medium dog and was shot through with luminous blue streaks.

Tiffany smiled up expectantly at the guard, who said, “That's all right, then,” and stepped aside.

No one in the kitchens paid her any mind, as Roland had promised. In thanks for that, Tiffany left a nice soft cheese for the cook and passed on her way with Horace trailing behind her. Carefully following Roland's instructions, Tiffany turned this way and that, until she found herself in a library, where Roland was waiting for her.

“What's happened since your last letter?” she asked.

“Aunt Danuta is still banging on my door and shouting. Aunt Araminta brought in a wizard last week. I'm not sure what spells he did, but what I managed to salvage of Mother's jewelry has gone missing. I don't think that's down to the servants or guards, because they're still on my side. They never openly disobey the aunts, but a lot of orders are conveniently forgotten or misunderstood.”

“And your father?”

“No worse, but not much better, either. He sleeps most of the time. The Feegles have been doing a bang-up job with the doctors and the aunts. Thanks for sending them along.”

There was a small, sharp intake of breath coming from the corners of the room. Tiffany corrected Roland, saying, “They're free men, and I'm not their kelda anymore. I didn't send them; I asked.”

“My apologies to you both,” Roland said gravely, bowing deeply. “They've been a tremendous help. The jars of wasps and leeches keep disappearing before they can be used and the doctors are losing their minds. The Feegles have also swapped that medicine you weren't sure of with colored syrup, and the doctors have been too distracted to notice.”

“He's still getting the sedative and painkiller?” Tiffany said anxiously.

“Yes, but not the other one, the one you weren't sure of.”

“Let's have a look, then," she said.  "Do I need to make us disappear, so the aunts won't see us?"

"Oh dinnae worry about them," a small voice said.  "They're too proud go about the castle in their nighties and all their fine clothes have gone missing in the night."

Roland grinned.  "Every day it's something different.  Yesterday, the doors to their rooms were locked with the only available keys on the outside."

"Aye, that's my fav'rite," the small voice chimed in.  "Those bigjobs can screech!"

 

And so Tiffany's work with the Baron began. Every day, she visited, and extracted a bit of the Baron's pain, leaving it dangling off his right elbow. The Feegles went on tormenting the doctors and bedeviling the aunts, who couldn't understand why their belongings never seemed to be in the right place. Some of the aunts' things had disappeared altogether, which really put them out, as they'd gone to a lot of trouble stealing them from the Baron in the first place.

As Tiffany teased out the Baron's pain, she caught glimpses of things that disturbed her. _Move it quickly and turn your back on it_ , Granny had said, and she did, but there were always swirls and twists of thing trying to suck her in. “Your father's been poisoned,” she told Roland, on her third visit.

“Can you fix it?” he said anxiously.

She looked at him steadily. “Not completely. A good deal of damage has been done.”

“So he is dying,” Roland said, looking depressed.

“Not right away,” Tiffany said. “At least I don't think so. His time will come sooner than it should have, but not just yet.”

Granny Aching would likely have prescribed a dose of turpentine, but Tiffany had seen more of the world than the Chalk. Using the herblore she'd picked up here and there, she made medicines for the Baron, and slipped them to him during her visits. Bit by bit, color crept back into the Baron's sunken cheeks, and his wakings were less painful, although still brief. He'd progressed from staring at Tiffany in mute appeal to giving her mildly fearful and resentful glances, which meant he'd regained enough of his senses to know she was a witch.

The day after the doctors quit, saying that the castle was haunted or cursed or both, the aunts caught Tiffany in the Baron's room.

“You!” Aunt Araminta said. “Who sent for you, farm girl?”

Tiffany's First Thoughts said the aunts had lovely clothing right down to their shoes, which looked slender and graceful compared to Tiffany's boots. Her Second Thoughts told her those little tippy tappy shoes were Castle shoes, and she would never be a Castle girl. And you won't get stuck in the mud, either, said her Third Thoughts. Straighten up and use some headology. You're a witch and should be proud of it.

“I sent for her,” Roland said, stepping out of the shadows. “Someone needed to help Father, and she has the skill.”

As the aunts squawked in outrage, Tiffany drew herself up to her full height, mustering every bit of headology and Boffo she'd learned. “I'm a witch, not a farm girl,” she said. “I go where there's need.”

“Well, you're not needed here,” Aunt Danuta said. “What is that smell? Don't you peasants ever bathe?”

“That smell is Horace,” Tiffany said. She could hear the Feegles muttering under their breath, although she couldn't see them. “My familiar,” she lied, thinking that no self-respecting witch would have a cheese for a familiar, even a Lancre Blue. “Horace?” she said, looking down at the cheese, and then pointing toward the aunts. “Werk!”

If a cheese can be said to have expressions, Horace gave her a puzzled look, then shrugged his nonexistent shoulders before setting on Aunt Danuta with enthusiasm. The Feegles needed no invitation to join the melee.

Tiffany and Roland hovered at the Baron's bedside and watched the chaos. “Father would be sleeping through the good part,” Roland said.

“OH, THIS ISN'T THE GOOD PART,” a voice said. “NOT JUST YET.”

Tiffany turned and saw Death slowly gliding towards them. Horace immediately broke off his attack on the aunts and launched himself at Death, with the Feegles in close pursuit. Death casually extended his scythe.

“Feegles, stop!” Tiffany said, and they did, although several of them were clearly confused by her command.

Death looked down at the Feegles swarming around his ankles and the cheese-shaped hole that Horace had left in his cloak. There was a small glowing sliver of Horace lying at his feet. He stooped to pick it up, then ate it. “HMM,” Death said. “TASTES LIKE CHICKEN.”

“You're not here for us,” Tiffany said, with more confidence than she felt. Witches know when their death is approaching, so she knew Death hadn't come for her. She was worried, though, that he might have come for Roland or the Feegles. Or even Horace, who was scrabbling around on the floor behind Death, planning his next move.

“NO. I HAVE COME FOR THESE TWO,” Death said, turning to Araminta and Danuta.

“There must be some mistake,” Araminta said, backing away from Death. “Our brother is the one who's dying.”

“NOT TODAY,” Death told her. “THIS IS WHAT COMES OF PAYING LOW DOLLAR FOR MAGICKS. CARELESS SPELLWORK. YOU WISHED FOR EVERYTHING OF HIS. YOU HAVE ALREADY TAKEN MOST OF IT. NOW IT IS TIME TO RECEIVE THE REST.”

Araminta and Danuta screamed, but Death said, “OH, SHUT IT, YOU GREEDY TWITS. BLUE CHEESE GIVES ME HEADACHE.”

Being twits, Araminta and Danuta went right on screaming, and decided to run away. Tiffany could hear their fancy shoes tip-tapping down the stairs for a few seconds, before the screaming took on a different note, and was accompanied by several thudding sounds, followed by silence.

“THAT'S DONE, THEN,” Death said, and disappeared down the staircase.

“Is he gone?” Roland said.

Tiffany nodded shakily. “His business is not with us. Not today.”

 

Once Tiffany saw that the Baron was still sleeping comfortably, she let Roland lead her to the top of Heron Tower.

“The aunts never wanted to climb this high,” Roland said. “I've spent a lot of time up here since Mother's death. Thank you for helping Father. For saving him, really, and me as well.”

“You're welcome,” Tiffany said. An awkward silence fell between them.

“I'll be Baron someday,” Roland said, sounding nervous. Without looking directly at Tiffany, he said, “Barons need wives.”

“I'm a witch,” Tiffany said. “And the Chalk needs one.”

“But witches can marry,” Roland said uncertainly. “Can't they?”

Tiffany thought of Nanny Ogg and all her children and grandchildren. She thought of Granny Aching, who'd tended a family as well as the lambs. “Some do,” she admitted. “But I'm too young to marry, and someone needs to look after the sheep.”

“Look,” Roland said, gesturing at the countryside.

Tiffany gazed out over the Chalk and saw the green hills, dotted with sheep and cottages. The view from up here was mesmerizing.  It's more beautiful than any tapestry in this castle, her First Thoughts said.  And hidden in that prettiness is a lot of pain, her Second Thoughts added.  Yours to take away, not yours to carry, said her Third Thoughts.

“These are my sheep,” Roland said. “Or will be.  The farmers and sheepherders, the villagers and tradesmen, even the Feegles come under my care. The Chalk needs a witch, but who's to say she has to make cheese or live on the uplands?”

 _I hopes you can close the doors you are opening_ , Granny Weatherwax had once told Tiffany. Was this a door? Could she close it? If she could, which side of it did she want to be on when it shut?

“I don't know how to be a Baroness,” Tiffany said uncertainly.

“Then be a witch. My witch,” Roland said, and bent down to kiss her.

Although doggedly practical by nature, Tiffany had sometimes wondered what it would be like to kiss Roland. While her hands had busily done the milking or the churning or the cheese-making, she'd imagined a first kiss from Roland happening in a dozen different ways. None of her imaginings had included Feegles.

“Ach, that's fair lovely,” said a tiny voice, and several other Feegles sighed while one made loud smooching sounds.

Tiffany blushed to the roots of her hair, but Roland broke away from her, laughing. “Crivens!” he said, looking down. “Some privacy, please? For the big wee hag?”

“For the big wee hag and the wee bigjob laird,” Rob Anybody agreed, deftly kicking Daft Wullie in the shins to stop the lip-smacking noises. There was a sudden blue blur, followed by an apparent absence of Feegles.

“They haven't left, you know,” Tiffany said with a grin.

“Neither have you,” Roland answered, and kissed her again.

  
  



End file.
